


No Rest for the Weary

by cherrycovered



Category: Cassandra Palmer Series - Karen Chance
Genre: F/M, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Nightmares, No Siren's Song or Dragon's Claw here, Post-Book 8: Ride The Storm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 18:43:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18697126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrycovered/pseuds/cherrycovered
Summary: Cassandra Palmer needs to sleep. But she has a wicked potion hangover and a heaping mound of unprocessed trauma.





	No Rest for the Weary

_No Rest for the Weary_

 

There wasn't a word for the kind of tired that I was feeling. At least not in English.

My brain was tired. My feet were tired. My back and shoulders ached. I felt like my bones were sagging. Even my ass was exhausted, as if that were possible.

But whenever I settled down into bed to rest, some ambient sound or fragmented dream would startle me awake and my heart would be racing, practically beating out of my chest. I would suck in a few shaking breaths and count to fifty, trying to calm the phantom panic.

I gave up on sleeping.

So I was sprawled out on an overstuffed couch in the Pythian suite, feeling cranky and miserable, when Hilde, Tami, and Marco surrounded me. It's never a good thing when Tami and Marco approach you at once. If I wasn't so tired, I would have been worried.

I tilted my head back to meet Marco's eyes.

" _What_?" I snapped, except it came out like a moan. Marco nodded over to Hilde and I swung my head around.

"Apollo's Tears," she said, simply. I blinked at her a couple of times, waiting for more. She just raised her eyebrows.

"Yes, thank god that's over," I said, testily. As far as I was aware, I had wiped out the current world supply of Apollo's Tears during my infinity consecutive attempts to shift back to the sixth century AD. "But Caleb knows how to brew more for the future. Or he knows someone who does. It's fine."

"No, honey." This time it was Tami. Moving my head seemed like too much effort, so I slid my eyes back over to the right. She was giving me a look that I remembered from my teenage years in her gang. It usually meant y _ou aren't going to like this, but I'm the boss_.

"Apollo's Tears did this to you," she continued.

"Did what?" I shot back, because I was feeling childish.

"Turned you into a shambling corpse," Marco growled.

"Takes one to know one," I might have muttered under my breath. I pulled my blanket up over my head so only my face and a few stray ringlets were visible.

"Honestly, guys, you have no idea what I've been through this past week. I just need some rest."

Well, that wasn't exactly true. Hilde knew some of it. She had even been there, at the end. But there was so much more that I couldn't explain, even if I wanted to. For example, how I had finally saved Pritkin, exactly what we had contributed to the battlefield, and how we had _done it_. So to speak. And then, once I returned from near-certain death, my sort-of boyfriend and closest ally had the gall to threaten me and mine.

I had stormed over to Mircea's place and found him gone. I left a scathing message and shifted back to Dante's. The moment I had stopped moving... that's when my body stopped cooperating.

"Be honest, Cassandra, how do you feel?" Hilde asked, crossing her arms over her sizeable chest. I sighed.

"Like I have the flu." I thought for a moment. "Or ebola."

"Lady Phemonoe always paid a price after she used the Tears," Hilde chided. "And she never, ever took consecutive doses like you did. We are simply worried about the side effects."

"Because," Marco said, "we can't afford to have you vulnerable. Even for a day."

Sure, I agreed with them. I didn't enjoy feeling like roadkill. And I really didn't enjoy the feeling of abject terror that was lurking in the recesses of my brain, just waiting for me to close my eyes again. But. But.

"Look." I mustered as much authority into my reedy voice as I possibly could. "What's done is done. I had my reasons, good reasons, to use the Tears like I did." I met each of their eyes in turn, furrowing my brow. "So unless you want to bring me bring some tylenol and gatorade, please let me die in peace."

"Some hangover, huh?" Marco joked. My glare could have melted steel, but it didn't budge the tiny grin on his face.

"We'll get you whatever you need, Cassie," Tami sighed. "But Hilde also has an idea."

........

Which is how I ended up in the middle of an impromptu pajama party.

 _The girls of the court are not just your prospective successors_ , Hilde had said. _They are your strength._

She meant that literally, too. Tami brought me some painkillers from her pharmacy stash. Fred dragged in a spare comforter and about five extra pillows, settling them around and on top of me until I was comfortably cocooned from the world.

Then Rhea came into the room, wrapped in an over-sized sweatshirt and leaning on Rico's arm. Her throat was still bandaged, but the gauze was hidden with a silk scarf. She smiled at me weakly as she settled into a big armchair next to me. Her feet were stuffed into fluffy slippers shaped like ducks. Poor elegant Rhea was being corrupted by trashy Las Vegas. And trashy little me.

She was soon followed by a parade of little girls and tweens and adolescents. Phoebe, the youngest of the initiates, crawled up on the couch and perched beside me, leaning on the pillow fort that Fred had constructed around my battered body. Five-year-old Emily snuggled in next to her, followed by seven-year-old Asma. The older girls spread out sleeping bags and blankets in front of the TV, creating a field of mismatched colors and prints: rainbows, cartoon puppies, polka dots, lightning bolts, even a few race cars.

Any other group of children would have been loud, but the Pythian Court was trained to be silent and courteous. Normally I hated seeing them so restrained, but my aching head didn't mind the quiet chatter and giggles.

My field of vision was limited by my blankets and pillow fort, but I saw Marco approach the TV out of the corner of my eye.

"What are we watching, chief?" I asked. Marco rolled his eyes, an expression that looked more than a little ridiculous on a man the size of an industrial refrigerator.

"Back by popular demand," he said dryly. He worked the remote and the screen went black for a second before the title credits began. A lilliputian shriek erupted from the couch cushions next to me.

"MOANA!" squealed Emily, sending a sonic spike through my aching skull. I winced as Phoebe started bouncing up and down beside her.

" _Moana_ ," the smaller girl whispered, almost reverently. Marco frowned at them both.

"Inside voice, Emily," he rumbled. "We've talked about this. Phoebe, sit on your bottom. No feet on the couch."

I pulled the blanket over my mouth so that Marco couldn't see me grinning.

The little girls watched raptly as the movie progressed and I soon forgot about my headache. It was cute. I was probably supposed to feel inspired by the heroine, but I identified more and more with the chicken. Uncontrollable screaming and surviving in spite of myself.

Maybe it was so many children crowded into one room, but I felt warmer and warmer inside of my cocoon. I looked away from the singing crab on the screen and let my eyes glide over the girls. My girls. I was still getting to know them. Belle was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Marta, their heads bent over a glossy magazine. Charlie was lying on her belly, kicking her feet back and forth gently to the beat of the song. Tamsin was painting her nails bright pink, which probably wasn't something she was supposed to be doing over the carpet. Beside me, I could feel the heavy weight of Phoebe leaning against my pillows--she was out like a light. If I hadn't been swaddled like a baby, I would have pulled her into my lap.

My heart swelled and I did feel better. I felt like I was finally home. And it was easy, so easy, to let my head tilt to the side and my eyes flutter close...

...and I snapped awake because it was suddenly too quiet and I was swaying back and forth.

Much to my surprise, Marco's square jaw greeted my eyes.

 _What_? I said, except that it came out more like "Sqwaughh?"

"You're going to bed," he rumbled. I was hanging six feet off the ground, clutched against his chest. It was like cuddling a subwoofer. We were walking down the penthouse hallway, towards my bedroom.

My chest tightened all over again and my heart rate began to spike.

"You can leave me on the couch," I said, as if it weren't already too late. Marco shook his head.

"You are going to bed," he repeated. "And I better not see you out of your room before morning."

"I don't--" I started to protest, but he pushed the door open with his foot and suddenly I was dumped on my bedspread. I was still wrapped up in a blanket like a human burrito, so it took me a moment to wriggle my arms and legs free. Marco gave me a look.

"Do you still feel sick?" he asked. I shook my head.

"It's too quiet in here," I said in an undertone. I didn't know how to explain the ghastly red field and bruise-colored sky that haunted me. Or the nightmare of a limp body, yellow hair bloodied--

Marco studied me for a long moment, arms crossed over his chest. Then he sighed.

"Stay there, Cassie," he said, voice surprisingly gentle. "I'll get you something."

Oh. I thought back to the last time I took a sedative, when I had an ass full of glass shards. That hadn't worked out so well. I thought drugs were off the table, so to speak. But I really needed to sleep, and a little bit of oblivion sounded... great.

I felt so weak and I hated it. My aches and pains had vanished, but my sense of peace disappeared as soon as the girls did. Since when was I afraid to be alone?

Everything was fine. Every _one_ was fine. I had saved the day.

But my nervous system didn't seem to agree.

The door creaked open and I whipped my head up, expecting to see Marco with a glass of water and a handy little pill. Instead I saw Fred, edging in slowly and supporting--

"Pritkin!" I exclaimed, springing upward on the bed. "What--you should be--"

"Resting?" he croaked, frowning at me with his familiar old glare, as if he weren't shambling in on Fred's arm. He was wearing a flannel robe, sweatpants poking out of the bottom. "Resting, like you?"

I opened my mouth again, but no sound came out.

"There you go, champ," Fred said, leading the hobbling war-mage to the opposite side of my bed. "Sit yourself down."

The glare transferred from me to Fred. Fred grinned a little too widely back.

"Yell if you need anything," he said, depositing Pritkin on the mattress and stepping back hastily. "If you try to go anywhere, Marco's going to duct tape you to the headboard."

Fred walked backwards all the way to the door, like the weirdo he was, and silently stepped out with a wave. The door clicked shut.

I slowly turned my head to the side.

Pritkin was staring back at me. His stubble was nearly a beard and his face was inscrutable.

"You should be asleep," I scolded. "You heard what Rian said--""

" _You_ should be asleep," he retorted. "Marco said you've been up for 36 hours."

I broke away from that piercing green gaze.

" _Marco_ should not go _tattling_ when _you're_ the one who needs to _recover from a curse that almost killed you_."

Maybe it came out a little more passionately than I intended.

"Cassie."

A hand descended on my hair, twisting into the curls. I wasn't sure if it was trembling, or if I was.

"I keep having nightmares," I mumbled to the bedspread.

"About what?" The hand settled around the back of my neck, squeezing softly.

"Everything," I whispered.

Pritkin's hand moved lower to circle around my waist. Then he pulled me towards him, but with only a fraction of his usual force. I ended up flopping over sideways on the bed. He muttered something I couldn't understand, but it sounded rude.

"For god's sake, come here," he said, a familiar level of exasperation in his tone. I scooted over and he wrapped an entire arm around me, pulling me close. I discovered that he was shirtless under the flannel robe, so I insinuated myself under it and against his bare chest. The little hairs tickled my nose and he smelled like a man who could use a shower.

I didn't care.

"I'm so mad that they dragged you up here," I said into his chest. Pritkin snorted.

"Are you?"

"I wanted you to rest and get better," I replied, and I was horrified to discover tears welling in my eyes.

"And I can't get better with you?" he retorted.

"I'm a mess," I said in a very small voice. _How can you heal if you're worrying about me_?

"You're alive," he stated hoarsely. "And that gives me more comfort than anything else."

I didn't know what to say after that, except to wrap my arms around him and squeeze very hard, tears leaking into his chest hair. Pritkin squeezed me back, and I began to feel warm again, the same way I had felt with the girls. His body was solid and tangible and so very real, unlike the phantom I had been chasing for far too long. And very much unlike the nightmare version of his bloody corpse that lurked behind my eyes.

"Can you sleep like this?" I asked, eventually. He kissed my forehead, and the act of tenderness made things twist and flutter in my stomach.

"Never better, I think," he murmured.

_Had I ever slept with a man before? Really, truly, and literally, in my own bed?_

"I'm willing to give it a try," I replied.

I spent the next several minutes digging at the covers with my feet and legs, unwilling to remove my arms from his body. I could feel the amusement radiating off of Pritkin in waves. I didn't even need to look at his face. After some struggling, I wiggled us underneath the blankets and reached a hand down to pull them up to our shoulders.

"Cassie," he said, for the second time that night. I finally pulled my face away from his chest and looked up. His expression was one I'd rarely seen before--tender and open and surprisingly vulnerable.

"I love you," he told me. "Now get some bloody rest."

"I will if you will," I retorted out of habit. Then paused. "I love you, too."

Eventually it was the soft sound of his breath and the slow beat of his heart that lulled me into a peaceful and dreamless sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to everyone who has ever been afraid to go to sleep.


End file.
